


Fate/[shorts]

by Yoru_The_Rogue



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_The_Rogue/pseuds/Yoru_The_Rogue
Summary: Just a series of various drabbles I've written throughout the Fate/ universe. Mood ranges all over the place, setting and characters vary in each. Includes crack drabbles as well. Several of these shorts, if not all, are the indirect fault of close friends that enjoy prodding my muse. Further character names will be added to the list as I continue to write more drabbles.





	1. A Most Fine Concubine

“Tokiomi, what is the meaning of this?!”

Gilgamesh rematerialized upon the roof, furious at the sudden inability to enter the Tohsaka manor. A warding spell? Tokiomi Tohsaka had the nerve to bar _his_ entry with something as filthy and simple as some warding spell? As the Heroic Spirit continued to fume and contemplate just how exactly he was going to punish the insubordinate wretch for this rebuff, another spell activated and an echo of white noise preceded a magically magnified voice.

“My deepest apologies, King of Heroes,” Tokiomi’s smooth, calm voice murmured all around him. “But until my family is relocated tomorrow, it is perhaps for the best that your glorious presence be kept separate from them.”

The Sumerian king of Uruk, the eternal lord of the undying Babylon, let out a snort of indignation. “Separate?” A second later, a thought came to mind concerning what had occurred earlier in the morning. He crossed his arms angrily as he addressed the mage’s enchanted voice. “Is this about my playing with your daughter?”

There was a heavy pause from Tokiomi, and Gilgamesh knew why. The sniveling mongrel clearly didn’t share his particular sense of humor.

_Really, he should be grateful that I didn’t take offense to the girl._

As far as he was concerned it had been an entirely playful and innocent interaction. The child had approached him without warning, her tiny hands balled into fists.

“You’re the reason my daddy is sending us away!” she had been snarling, practically on the verge of shrieking at him. “This is all your fault! You ruined everything! I hate you!”

While he had been attempting to process just where in the world the petite little viper had sprung from and what she was saying, six-year-old Rin Tohsaka had marched right up to Gilgamesh of Uruk and pounded her little fists against his kneecaps.

“I’ll fight you! I’ll take you down myself! _I’ll_ win the Holy Grail War and then you’ll be _really_ sorry you ever messed with my family!”

Against any other person, Gilgamesh would have not hesitated to open the Gate of Babylon to teach them the error of their ways. Truly it was the only thing any dirty mongrels and their spawn deserved. But instead he felt a laugh burst out of him and he hoisted the little girl off the floor, effortlessly turning her in slow circles, spinning her over and over again.

“You amuse me, girl!”

She had only snarled all the more viciously for him to fight her like a man, and Gilgamesh had simply laughed all the harder. The whole thing had been cut short when Tokiomi all but broke down the door and practically fussed like an old nursemaid as he shrieked and snatched up his daughter, darting away with her. Irritated at his fun being ruined, Gilgamesh had heaved a sigh, gone into spirit form, and rematerialized in Fuyuki Church to pass the time drinking away the wine owned by the Kotomine father and son. He had remained there for most of the day afterwards, so he couldn’t imagine that Tokiomi would still be so vexed over something so harmless.

“This doesn’t have so much to do with the horseplay as it does a remark you apparently shared with Kirei Kotomine,” Tokiomi’s voice finally responded.

Gilgamesh hesitated. No. No surely Kotomine wouldn’t have—

“You think Rin would make an excellent concubine were she twenty years older?” The mage’s question was laced with a tense, knife-sharp edge.

“Yes,” he answered, seeing no sense in being ashamed of such a remark. “You should be honored; it’s high praise and a lofty compliment I have bestowed upon your daughter. She is clearly already very spirited—”

“Like a wild horse that needs only be ridden until it’s been properly broken?” Tokiomi finished the thought acidly, confirming the king’s suspicion. Not only had Kirei told his teacher about the conversation, he’d evidently quoted Gilgamesh’s entire half of it verbatim. The King of Heroes wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed or impressed by that.

“Well, that’s how I dealt with spirited horses and spirited women back when I ruled.”

“Oh, indeed.” Yes, there was no doubt about it, the elegantly-groomed little man was furious with him over this. “And forgive me my impertinence, as I’m certain other gentlemen of high standing would have been honored by such flattery regarding their daughters back in the time of your kingdom. As it stands, O Magnificent King of Heroes, I seek only to repay you in a manner suitable to the topic at hand. I’ll lift the warding tomorrow after my family has been relocated. The weather is supposed to remain warm and the sky cloudless, so I bid you a pleasant evening, Your Majesty.”

As his voice faded, the white noise vanished and the spell had been dropped. Still fuming, Gilgamesh crossed his arms again and sat down, folding his legs under him. Stupid mages. The people of this era just couldn’t take a compliment for what it was any more, could they? Still, if nothing else, Tohsaka’s child had proved interesting in her own right, and even if _he_ continued to bore the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh could always go spin the little six-year-old spitfire again and laugh as she cussed him out. At least that would be fun.


	2. What Once Was Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Heavily inspired by Anna's cover of the "Healing Incantation" from Tangled, which can be found on YouTube.]

Musky men's cologne intermingled with the heavy aroma of wood smoke, adding an illusion of warmth to the spacious room. Any second the owner of the manor could walk in through the door, bringing the smell of burning wood smoke with him, a kind, handsome smile spreading across his face. A low, crackling fire would spring to life in the hearth at his entry, like a family dog delighted at his master's return.

But the hearth was empty and cold, not even a single flickering ember remaining among the ash. Rain pattered on the window outside, accompanied by a soft growl of thunder on occasion. And the room that had once seemed so cozy and safe was now just a little bigger and just a little alien. Fading traces of powerful magic frozen in place like trapped echoes were the only other sign of his presence that lingered.

Rin Tohsaka was strong, much stronger and more willful than nearly any other child her age. Classmates and peers looked to her for strength, leadership and guidance. Even most adults that got to know her were impressed by her tenacity and maturity. But in that moment, she didn't feel strong. She didn't feel tenacious, and there was none of her usual fire of ferocity present in her bearing. Hunching over, white-knuckled hands gripping her skirt tightly as her feet dangled off the end of the huge bed, Rin felt far smaller and more alone than she ever had before in her life. Sniffling, she fought against the wet stinging in her eyes.

The battle was pointless and the tears slipped out anyway, falling from her eyes only to be soaked up by the fabric of her clothes. She had known this day might happen, but still it had come too soon. She was only six years old; she wasn't ready to be the head of the family. She didn't want to be the head of the family. Now, she had no choice.

It wasn't fair. She had wanted more time. Not more time to grow up; she had already been growing up faster than any of her friends, and she knew inevitably she would have to. No... she had wanted more time with him. She wanted to learn everything he knew, and she wanted him to watch her grow as a mage. She wanted to grow into someone worthy of their bloodline's magical lineage, someone he could be proud of without reservation.

That, the adults who were assisting in the preparations remarked, was purely the selfishness of a child speaking. She had no right to act in such a manner, not now that she had proper responsibilities thrust on her shoulders and duties to uphold. Knowing how she would be seen if she tried defying such claims, Rin knew she would walk out when the priest sent for her, and she would oversee the burial with her head held high, a picture of grace and dignity.

But those claims didn't stop her from feeling. And just because she was now forced to grow up, she was no less a child. And so in secret, tucked away in her father's bedroom, Rin curled up on the sheets of the bed and wept in silence.


	3. Daydreaming

Weak, early morning light filtered in through the windows, murky and gray, adding to Kayneth’s irritable mood. He expected this sort of dismal weather in London, not Japan. So far this entire trip had been an absolute drag, providing none of the promised glory associated with participation in the Holy Grail War. A lesser man would have gone out already and taken the edge off his temper with alcohol. Kayneth was tempted, but he wanted his wits about him.

Besides, he hated the taste of Japanese wine.

“Master, is everything alright? You're making faces.”

The words trailed off awkwardly, and Kayneth twisted around to face the speaker, his leather chair making embarrassingly undignified squeaks. He did his best to ignore the sound as he regarded the Servant he had summoned, the Lancer called Diarmuid Au Duibhne. The Heroic Spirit seemed only slightly younger than he, probably due to the youthful features of his face, with trusting amber eyes and an eager-to-please smile that made him an open book. He was staring, blinking in concern.

It was an obvious façade that threatened to trigger Kayneth’s gag reflex. He had barely thought to study the history and stories behind the First Spear of Fianna, and he was starting to regret not having thoroughly done so before the summoning. Sola-Ui was utterly smitten with the infuriating Servant, that much was obvious, and Kayneth suspected she had intentionally allowed herself to fall prey to Lancer’s curse rather than relying on her magical heritage to negate it. He had little doubts that Lancer would not hesitate to turn against him and snatch Sola-Ui away like the lustful dog he was, given the first opportunity.

This lent too much to Kayneth’s irritable mood as he glowered at his Servant. “I am sick of this country already and I only tolerate it—and you—because I must if I am to be victorious and win the Holy Grail,” he snapped angrily. “Surely you have a brain in that head of yours; I'm astounded that you weren't able to piece that much together on your own!”

“My Master, please forgive me,” Lancer was quick to say. “I was only concerned for your well-being.”

_Oh yes, I'm certain you were,_ Kayneth's thoughts retorted sarcastically. _Probably wondering whether or not I'll get sick and be weakened enough that I won't be able to stop you from frollicking off with my fiancée! Don't think I'm falling for your innocent “loyal knight” routine, you lewd pest. I can see_ right _through you!_

“Master, your stare is making me uncomfortable.”

He had to resist the urge to groan. Of all the—!! “Then if it bothers you that much, why don't you make yourself scarce and find something useful to do? I'm sure that you can find some way to ensure that Sola-Ui's mana expenditure to keep your form manifested isn't a complete waste!”

The flinch was slight, but it was there; his words had cut the Heroic Spirit to the quick. For what it was worth though, Lancer held onto his basic dignity as he straightened up and gave a respectful bow.

“As you wish, my Master,” he acknowledged, his form slowly dissolving into a shower of shimmering light that hung briefly suspended in the air before it too, vanished. After a few seconds Kayneth allowed himself to relax, leaning back into his chair and exhaling his breath in a dramatic whoosh. A horny dog, that's what Lancer was. Of all the Servants he could have wound up with from that replacement artifact, he just had to get a horny dog with no brain and a hankering for his poor, trusting fiancée.

_My poor, dear Sola-Ui... She has no idea how greatly she is at risk, allowing herself to become so bewitched by that filthy ghost._

He flung an arm over his eyes as he leaned back. This was going to be problematic for his chances at winning. The best hope he had was to rely on the other magical tools and various spells he had at his disposal instead of putting his complete faith in his Servant. If this kept up though, he was going to have to keep Sola-Ui as separated from Lancer as possible; the last thing he wanted was the risk of being cuckolded before he even wed his fiancée, and by the ghost of a man dead thousands of years past, no less! He would be the laughingstock of the entire Archibald family and might as well walk around the rest of his life with a paper bag over his head to hide the immense shame.

_But if I win the Holy Grail and return in triumph, it will all be worth it._

Yes, everything would be worth it. Years of molding, learning and study; the lack of being able to enjoy his childhood while growing up for the sake of being properly groomed to his family's perfections; the indignity of teaching insufferable young upstarts who didn't know their place; the trial and error of spellwork; the pressures of the Archibald family expectations; and this second-rate Servant seducing his beautiful fiancée... Every last bit of it would be worth what he endured once he won this war and returned home with the Grail in hand. He could see it now...

It was a gorgeous chalice of finely-crafted gold and the blessings of celestial beings, worthy only of one who would use it. Perhaps he would hold onto it for a while; perhaps he would have it put on display in a museum. But as he wrapped his gloved hands about the stem of the Grail, he could hear the heavens open up and beautiful music playing as light shown down upon him. Yes, the Grail was his and his alone, and the Powers That Be had given him their full approval to bear such a powerful artifact down among the unworthy. He descended a staircase of pristine, glittering white steps and held his head high as he held the Grail out for the defeated to see. Sola-Ui gasped, her eyes shining in awe and wonder as she smiled for him, and only for him. Lancer wept tears of joy, having dropped his spears to the floor to better allow himself the chance to applaud his Master in a standing ovation.

“Master Kayneth, truly your greatness is beyond compare!” he cried. “You are a far better man than any of us could hope to be!”

As Kayneth dipped his head in acknowledgment of the praise, somewhere further off his ears caught the sound of bitter childish wailing. That would be Waver Velvet finally learning his place, the arrogant little brat. Let him look upon his better and despair of ever being Kayneth's equal! Ahh, but even that was not the sweetest promise such victory held.

“Kayneth darling, my love!”

He opened his arms wind as Sola-Ui ran toward him in slow motion, her eyes dancing with delight at knowing that she would be the wife of the greatest mage of the Archibald family! He just barely handed off the Grail to the waiting _Volumen Hydrargyrum_ as Sola-Ui embraced him and he swept her up off her feet and into his arms. The momentum of the action threatened to unbalance him, but he pirouetted into the motion and spun around with his bride-to-be, whose laughter was music to his ears.

“Kayneth, you're wonderful!” she cooed.

“Yes, I know,” he acknowledged, perhaps just a bit smugly. But if anyone had a right to be smug here it was him, wasn't it?

“You won us the Grail, you handsome, amazing, _perfect_ genius, you!” Sola-Ui was practically fawning as she draped her arms about his neck. Without hesitation, she leaned in and planted a few quick kisses on the side of his face. He was unable to stop himself from smiling as he felt a blush rise in his cheeks.

“W-well, it was all for you, my love,” he answered, and she gently nuzzled his nose with her own in response.

“Let's get married tonight!”

His face grew even hotter and he opened his eyes wide to stare at her. “Oh, well, uh...” She watched him through eyes half-lidded, her long lashes fluttering. She had never looked at him like that before. Unless he was very much mistaken, those had to be bedroom eyes. “I mean uh, if you don't want to wait much longer—”

“Why wait another six months? Make me your _bride_ , Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald.”

A small shiver went down his spine at the way she said his full name, the delicious kind of shiver he didn't get all that often. He let out a nervous laugh, feeling his entire face go completely scarlet.

“I-if that's what you want, my love, then I'll make it happen! I'll make you my bride!”

“You just said he was making faces; you didn't say anything about acting out dialogues with himself,” Sola-Ui's voice suddenly was cold and mildly amused. Confused, Kayneth blinked.

He was back in his room at the Hyatt Hotel, and a sinking feeling was building in his gut. Slowly he turned toward the right and saw, to his mounting horror, Sola-Ui watching him with her arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked. It took him a second to realize he was no longer sitting in the chair but standing right in the middle of the room, arms extended before him to carry something that wasn't there. When had he stood up?! When had she even gotten back to the room?!

“He wasn't, not when I left,” Lancer's disembodied voice added a moment before he materialized. “I'm sorry, Master Kayneth. I was worried, so I thought I would fetch Mistress Sola-Ui to see if she could offer insight on how you're feeling.”

He seemed abashed, not looking up as he trained his eyes to a fixed spot on the floor. But Kayneth barely cared in light of the way his fiancée was looking at him. Sola-Ui lifted both eyebrows as she watched him, and Kayneth could sense cool amusement behind the neutral mask she had worked her face into reflecting.

“Your _bride_ , Kayneth? My, what sort of fantasies are you entertaining when we're not around to watch you put on a show?” she purred, a small smile just faintly starting to come through as she rested her cheek against one hand.

_Oh. My. God. THEY WERE WATCHING ME?!_ Kayneth suddenly wished he'd pulled out the _Volumen Hydrargyrum_ earlier so he could will it into a sphere and disappear inside it.

“I wasn't—!! That's not—!! You—!!” he spluttered, but his brain seemed to have temporarily burned out on potential rebuffs. Hastily he made a dive for the newspaper laying on the coffee table and in one swift motion, cracked it open with a flourish. He hid behind it, not noticing that the entire thing was in hirigana, which he hadn't bothered learning, nor the fact that he was holding it upside-down. “I was deeply engaged in reviewing a crucial part of my plans for victory in this war, if you absolutely must know.”

“Oh, of course you were,” Sola-Ui cooed, her voice poisonously sweet as she tried to hold back a snicker. “I'm sure the Holy Grail will be thrilled to have you carry it off bridal style.”

Kayneth felt his face burn all the way up to the tips of his ears. Right now, one small drink didn't sound quite so awful anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I would say that I'm sorry, but I'm really not.]


	4. The Path of Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Previous drabbles were all set in Fate/Zero at various points in time. This is specifically a Fate/Grand Order drabble, for one of my self-concocted brOTPs.]

The rain drained everything of color, washing the world in the gray of despair. This was as true now as it had been during his lifetime.

He raised his eyes heavenward as he strode through the streets, looking into the gray as his boots splashed in the standing water. It was almost ironic to consider the possibility that he might have brought the storm with him. A mirthless, cold laugh. Yes, that would be fitting irony on which to continue his tale of vengeance. He stretched out his arms, slowing his pace as the rain struck against his face. An embrace of this dark destiny, for the world would again recognize the approach of Edmond Dantés, the Count of Monte Cristo.

Ringing tones of metal striking metal reached his ears, and he looked ahead on the path, lowering his arms a fraction. He quickened his pace again. Through the dreary curtains of rainfall, the scene of a battle came into view. No others were around to witness the clash, or else he would have sensed them. No, he alone played witness to the match unfolding. An inexplicable sense of kinship tugged at him; he knew neither of the combatants, but one of them called to the very essence of his being. Another who craved a chance for revenge after being wronged. Edmond’s breath hissed out between his teeth as his lips curled up in a vicious smile.

_Finally there is another._

He watched in silence, marveling at the skill possessed by each swordsman as they traded blows. But which was the one who called to the spirit of vengeance? Who carried the desire for retribution in each arc of their blade? He continued to watch and wait, studying the Servants as they fought. Gradually he realized the warrior in the red-and-white armor befitting a knight was the one who continued to draw his gaze.

_Is it you? Are you the one whose spirit resonates with my own?_

Yes. There was an unquenched rage in their movements, a resolute drive in each charge they took at their enemy, and a fire that couldn’t be put out, the sort of fire that went marrow-deep. But the one opposing them was crafty, and in moments the armored Servant crashed to the ground, blade skittering away across the street from a dislodged grip. Dantés moved then, his steps no longer marking his passage by sound as living, twisting darkness danced around his arms. He went unnoticed by both Servants, as the armored Saber looked up to the enemy holding a blade pointed at the neck between that white and red armor. The threat was obvious.

“Any last words?” he taunted.

He was too slow.

“Poignant, in a manner befitting philosophically reversed fortunes,” Edmond commented, closing a hand that writhed with black energy over the Rider’s throat. “Cliché as far as a phrase goes, but poignant.”

The Rider let out a scream that ended in a wet gurgle, and in moments he vanished, dissolving into shimmering mist as his soul was returned to its personal Purgatory. For a second, Edmond watched the mist that had been the Rider dissipate into nothing, and then he shifted his gaze expectantly to the one he had saved. The Saber was glaring up at him, a flicker of blue-green hidden beneath the eye-slits in the vast helmet.

“I had him!” a female voice snapped, tinny and reverberating inside the armor. “I didn’t need your help, so butt out!” She was beginning to push herself up on her elbows when something else seemed to occur to her and she halted, tense. “Unless you're here to fight too!”

“No,” he answered calmly. A bit paranoid and rough around the edges then, but now that she was the only other Servant present with him, the sense of one kindred was magnified tenfold. She was the one, without question. “You called to me.”

She glared at him, and after a second, pulled the helmet off, golden-blonde tangles of hair framing her face. She was suspicious of him, and a great deal younger than anticipated. This could prove interesting, if not challenging.

“You're crazy, pal! I didn’t call anyone.”

He met her gaze levelly. “Didn't you?”

A long moment passed, quiet apart from the rainfall against the pavement. Her expression grew skeptical and uncertain; perhaps she felt that very same like-to-like pull, even if she couldn’t explain it to herself. She studied him, taking measure of what she faced.

“Who are you?” she finally asked. “You're a Servant too, but you're nothing like any other Servant I’ve seen.”

“I am Avenger.”

She frowned, trying to process this. “There's no such thing as an Avenger class!”

He gave a humorless smile in return. “There’s no such thing as a Ruler, and yet she’s walking among the rest of us,” he replied smoothly.

“G-good point…” she mumbled, unable to argue the point. After another second or two of suspicious studying of Edmond, she ventured a question. “I feel like I know you. Have we… met before, at some point?”

“No, this is the first I’ve ever seen you,” he conceded. “But your thirst is the same as mine.”

Her head jerked up and she met his gaze fiercely. Silent understanding passed between them.

“Restitution for the wrongs we've faced isn't so easily attainable by oneself, however,” he continued. She gave a wry snort, finally getting to her feet and retrieving her sword from where it had landed earlier.

“Speaking from experience there, buddy? Got any other little nuggets of wisdom you wanna impart?”

“No,” he answered quickly, then amended, “Actually… on second thought, I do. Better to share burdens with one willing to assist you than to have your own back break under the weight of shouldering it all by yourself.”

She paused, then approached him, tilting her head back to look up at him. He was surprised at her height; the imposing armor made her seem larger than life.

“Still speaking from experience?” she guessed, and when he nodded solemnly, a corner of her mouth twitched upward into a crowd smirk. “If you wanna be allies, you'd better be freakin’ sure of it. Most people expect me to betray them.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he returned dispassionately. That drew another uncertain frown from her and she stepped closer.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “Who are you, really?”

“A man, or the shadow of one,” he replied. “A young sailor was once imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, left to rot in the unforgiving hell of a prison the French once called the Chateau d’If.” Edmond paused before adding quickly, “But that man is dead. I am what is left.” He watched the comprehension dawn in her eyes, and then asked, “And may I ask who you are?”

She gave a bitter laugh, her smile pained beneath the affected indifference. “No point in hiding my name, especially from the Count of Monte Cristo himself. Everyone who doesn't know figures out soon enough anyway.” Her blue-green eyes blazed again with that fire he’d sensed in her before. “You can call me Mordred.”

_Aaahh, it is no surprise then, for us to be drawn to one another._ Edmond smiled in spite of himself and extended his arm to get in an invitation. Mordred looked down at it for a moment before grasping his entire forearm with her own and gripping it tightly.

“I think for now,” he remarked, “I shall just call you sister.”


End file.
